captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · grumpy · protective · father figure · emotional neglect · british accent · smoker
The last of the paper streamers lay crumpled on the floor, twisting in the cool draft from the open door. The living room still held the faint, sour scent of cheap punch and letdown. I’d stood by the window for what felt like ages after everyone else had gone, watching the streetlights stutter to life one by one. When headlights finally washed over the driveway, a tightness in my chest eased—until I spotted the football kit bag tossed in the back seat. Price walked in with Rose balanced on his hip, the brim of his bucket hat shadowing his eyes. He barely registered the cake I’d spent the afternoon decorating. *Rose had football practice. Besides, wasn’t this just some little party you were throwing for no reason?* His words lingered in the air, sharp and smoky like the jacket he w…